A couple of months back I was informed there was a parcel headed my way. Instructions were to mess around with the contents of said package, form opinions regarding how much entertainment value was derived from the item within, and report back to the sender. I was told that my very thoughts would become the tangible owner’s property and under absolutely no circumstances was I to publicly herald my rumination.

The plain brown box was propped against my front door. Around a meter long, and four by four, it contained the latest incarnation of precision graphite from Scott Fly Rod Company. I vaguely recall being given tacit authorization to discuss the rod’s characteristics with friends and work colleagues, and seeing as I was three shots into a twelve shot party when the orders were given they are the only ones who read this blog anyway, I figured what the heck…

Fleeting glimpse of stealth prototype. Location: Area 51

Eschewing Obfuscation

The nine-foot five-weight was packed for trips to State X and State Y, but I kept thinking I’d forgotten it. This enigmatic rod felt almost weightless in the hand, and yet easily handled roll and water loading two-fly rigs with large wool indicators, from 25 to 50 feet of line, in moderate to heavy winds. In often fast and twisting flows, mends were weaved that would make Joseph Jacquard head back to the drawing board; barely a flick of the wrist would have line hopping off the water in any direction I wanted. Tankers were frequently hooked, yet even when they fought their way downstream in heavy water the rod showed it had the guts to haul them back to my feet. It muscled big fish like it was formed from stainless steel.

Later, during a furious hatch of BWOs sized more like gray drakes, the rod turned over ultra-fluffy dries on 10-foot leaders with less than half that length in line hanging off the tip; I could literally feel the #10 Whatchamacallits twisting and turning in the wind on their way to the intended targets. Then the fish would eat, I’d set, and the rumble would begin. Those feeding up top weren’t big, but they were feisty, and prior to tap-out I could sense every headshake, change of direction, and move to order yours truly another Macallan Sherry Oak perform aerial acrobatics. The rod seemed to morph from wrecking crane to semolina angel hair, making even ten-inch fish a hoot to bring in.

Adjudication

A more enjoyable stick to fish I’d be hard pressed to find. Roll casts, overhead casts, single-handed spey tricks – I found nothing it couldn’t do. Nary a tippet was popped, yet I found the rod possessed brutally efficient hook-setting prowess. And did I mention it mends like an Ermenegildo Zegna tailor after consuming a gallon of Red Bull? That’s a quality nearly impossible to find in modern fast-action fly rods, and probably the subject’s highlight feature.

Of course, this new lineup, purported to be named The Wicked Radian, isn’t yet available – the rumor is sometime in the next month. I’ll probably get kicked off the SDSTSTC (Scott Double Super Top Secret Testing Crew) after exercising my loose lips as though training for the next Olympics, so feel free to ask questions as I am a shoe-in for the curling team anyway.

MG signing off (because sometimes keeping your big mouth shut just isn’t any fun)